


Sleep Well

by Fatally_Procrastinating



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 00:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3549896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatally_Procrastinating/pseuds/Fatally_Procrastinating
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Cullen succumbs to fever, Prishe Lavellan stays by his side to nurse him and hears a few unexpected confessions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Well

**Author's Note:**

> Prishe belongs to [artsyneurotic.](http://artsyneurotic.tumblr.com)

Prishe narrowed her eyes when Cullen swayed for the third time in the last hour. His skin was pale in the dim light and the shadows under his eyes made his face resemble a skull. Leliana’s report droned on as a buzz in her ears as Prishe watched him. He set a hand to his forehead, eyes closing for a moment.

“Commander?”

Cullen blinked, then looked around the table. “Yes, Inquisitor?”

“I—” She flushed when the other two women stared at her, a small crease in Leliana’s eyes marked her annoyance at being interrupted. “You look unwell.”

“I’m fine, Inquisitor.”

Josephine took a step towards the man. “Perhaps the Inquisitor is right, Commander. You do appear to be rather flushed.”

“I assure you, there’s nothing to be concerned over.” Cullen scowled. The anger in his expression was somewhat weakened when he suddenly gripped the table. “Just a little dizzy spell.”

Leliana scoffed and folded her arms with that same smug smile she always wore when she knew a secret. “This ‘dizzy spell’ of yours has been with you since you returned from the Fallow Mire.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” Prishe rounded on the spymaster.

“What? It’s none of my affair if the Commander wishes to be stubborn.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen muttered. “Could we please drop this?”

Prishe walked around the edge of the war table. Cullen’s cheeks went pink as he turned away. “I order you to bed rest.”

“What?!”

“Three days. You’re to sleep, eat, and relax. Nothing else.”

“And what of my duties? I have reports to finish, recruits to train!”

“They can wait,” Prishe said. “You can’t.”

Cullen opened his mouth. He paused then gave in with a sigh. “Very well, Inquisitor. But only for one day.”

Prishe hid her smile with a firm nod. Of course he’d bargain over his own health. “Go to it, Commander. I expect Leliana to tell me of all the rest you’re getting tonight.”

Cullen’s lips tugged up at the corners. He gave a stiff bow to the other women before leaving the room.

“Now,” Leliana said, “about the resources we’ve discovered in the Hissing Wastes. I believe that—”

A loud crash came from the hall outside.

“Cullen?” Prishe ran to the door. “Cullen!”

He lay crumpled in a heap, his breathing shallow and harsh. She fell to her knees at his side, her fingers going to his neck. His pulse thrummed under her touch and when Prishe rolled him onto his back, his eyes moved around in an unfocused haze.

“Cullen, can you hear me?”

* * *

Prishe paced through the hall outside of the infirmary, twisting her fingers together as fear clawed at her gut.

“Mother Giselle!” she grabbed the older woman when she stepped outside. “The healers—Cullen—what’s happening?”

“Easy, child. The Commander has a high fever. His life does not appear to be in any danger, but I would be lying if I said his recovery would be easy.” The Chantry woman caught Prishe by the shoulders when she tried to enter the room. “He isn’t well, Inquisitor. His mind is… he is fragile now. I beg you—tread lightly.”

“Of course.” Prishe gave her the best smile she could muster before pushing past into the room. Cullen had been stripped down to a simple tunic, the edges of which were already soaked in his sweat. His hair hung in damp curls around his face.

The healer at his side wrung out a damp cloth before placing it on his forehead. The woman glanced up and lowered her head. “Your Worship.”

Prishe waved her hand dismissively at the title. “How is he?”

“Sleeping for now. I pray he remains that way.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“I am afraid time is the only thing that will heal him, Your Worship.”

“Oh.”

“However,” the woman added quickly, “I am sure that he would be glad of your company. The Commander has… requested you several times.”

“Requested me?”

“Yes, Your Worship.”

“Why wasn’t I informed?”

“He was—how shall I put it—unwell when he made the request, Your Worship.”

Prishe frowned but didn’t press the subject. She approached the bed, her hand drifting towards Cullen’s. His face was creased in pain. “I’d like to tend him for a while. If that’s all right.”

“Of course.” The healer gave a deep bow before rising to her feet.

Prishe waited until the door was fully closed before taking the spot beside his bed. She’d never seen him so fragile. Sunken features, skin pale enough to make his linen tunic look dark. She watched. She watched for what felt like hours, changing out the cloth on his forehead, adjusting the blankets when he moved, touching his hand when he whimpered in his sleep.

Her eyes began to droop. The candles flickered and spluttered as they struggled to burn through the final traces of wax.

“Why are you so sad?”

Prishe jerked forward at his voice, using everything she had not to draw him into her arms. His eyes were bleary and red, but openly studying her face.

“I’m not sad at all.” She forced a grin. “See? There’s nothing for me to be sad about.”

Cullen raised a shaky hand to her face. She helped him press it to her cheek, biting down on her tongue to try and distract herself from the anguish in his expression.

“You’re sad,” he said again. His fingers traced her vallaslin. She shivered when his touch shifted to her ear. “They only droop like that when you’re sad.”

“I…” His leathery fingers traced the outline of her ear and she flushed. “C-Cullen, that’s—”

“I’m sorry.” His hand fell in an instant and his brow drew together until his forehead was nothing but wrinkles. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would  _never_ hurt you, Prishe. Maker, I wish you were real right now so I could tell you that in person.”

“I am real, Cullen.” She took his hand and held it tight, bringing it up to brush her lips along the knuckles. His skin was still burning. The fool. Couldn’t he ever value himself for once? She changed out the cloth on his forehead again, feeling pathetic with each drop of water she wrung out. Mighty Inquisitor and  _this_ was all she could do?

“You can’t be real,” he said, voice raspy. “Prishe wouldn’t be here with me—not like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Prishe could never care for someone like me. She’s so… Maker, she’s so beautiful. I remember the first time I met her in Haven—the way her skin glowed in the candlelight, the delicate curves of her vallaslin, the way her lips moved when she spoke.” He let out a shaky sigh. “I couldn’t stop staring. You don’t think she noticed, do you?”

“I, um.” She felt her cheeks warming despite herself. His gaze was fevered but gentle and focused entirely on her face. “N-no. I don’t think she noticed.”

“Good,” Cullen said. “It’s better this way; I would hate for her to feel awkward around me.” His voice was still weak but his next sigh held a tone of wonder. “Have you ever seen her use her magic?  _Maker’s breath_. With her, it’s… it’s elegant. It’s part of her. Though…” He shifted closer as if he were divulging a great secret. “I sometimes wish she weren’t a mage.”

“Why?” Prishe bit her lip and wondered if it was right to ask him these things. In his fever, he may not even mean what he was saying. Curiosity won out and she leaned over to hear his answer.

“I’m a Templar— _was_  a Templar. If she knew about my past with mages—” He shuddered. “I’m ashamed of myself when I think of the things I said. How could she ever love someone with hands as dirty as mine?” His chin wavered and her heart ached at the grief in his face.

“Cullen.” Prishe took his hand and wrapped her own tight around it. “You can’t think of yourself that way. I don’t—Prishe doesn’t think of you like that.”

“She doesn’t?”  

“No. She never has.”

“Really?” His lips turned up with a weak smile. “Do you… do you think she might ever care for me? Even as I am?”

Prishe nodded, not trusting her own voice.

Cullen’s body relaxed into the bed, his smile growing. “That’d be nice. I would like to tell her… just once how much I…” His eyelids began to flutter. “It’s so hot.”

She laughed and set his hand down at his side before getting a glass of water. “You’re very sick, Commander. I’m afraid it’s going to be hot for a while.” She cupped the back of his neck as she helped him drink, feeling terrible for grinning but unable to stop all the same.

He blinked a few times after he’d drained the glass. His fingers came up and brushed along her jaw. “So beautiful.”

“Rest, Cullen.”

“I… I don’t want to…”

She smiled, her face warming as he caressed her cheek. “Prishe will be here waiting for you when you wake up again.”

“Do you promise?”

“I do.”

His eyes narrowed and in an almost childish voice, he asked, “Do you  _really_  promise?”

“Only if you rest.”

Cullen’s suspicious gaze melted with a soft snore. His hand slumped down onto the bed as his body finally relaxed

Prishe watched him a moment before she leaned in pressed her lips to his forehead.

“Sleep well.”  _Ma vhenan._


End file.
